Monday, June 13, 2011

Old Mister Barry

by James von Dielingen


Old Mister Barry
Was only half-fairy
With a wand that was only half-magic

His right-side immortal
Onlookers would chortle
His left-side was frail, old, and tragic

The Troll

by James von Dielingen


Situated atop my credenza
Was a troll with mild influenza

With cigar in his mouth he did grin
Thinking of just how to begin

With a dull and serrated knife
He threatened to shorten my life

He grinned and let out a cackle
And lunged at me for a tackle

I ducked to avoid the impact
For I didn’t know how else to act

His leap launched him over my head
Had he hit me I’d surely be dead

He slammed his head into the table
And weebled and wobbled, unstable

Such a racket emerged from his gob
That my poor eardrums began to throb

He screamed and stamped his feet
And threw his small blade in defeat

For his noggin I brought him some ice
He thought that was awfully nice

The troll and I soon became friends
But that’s not how this story ends

The troll now protects my house
From vermin like raccoon or mouse

I ought to feel so greatly blessed
To have such a protective guest

But, when friends come over to see me
The troll sometimes pretends to be me

Then threatens to stab or fillet
And scares all my company away

Judah's Camel Ride

by James von Dielingen

Judah DePriest
Went to the Middle East
To ride through the desert by camel
He wanted to sit,
And avoid camel spit
On the back of that knock-kneed brown mammal
He expected some grace
On that arid dune race
Just like the Tauntaun ridden by Hamill
But he felt like a chump
On top of that hump
While he ground away all his tooth enamel

Thump!

by James von Dielingen

If ever you’re wanting to jump
Just think of the terrible bump
Awaiting you all
At the end of your fall
You'll die with a horrible thump!

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Prison

by James von Dielingen

There’s something that I must say to you
For fear you might never have learned
About what a life of crime can do
When your last citation is earned

Prison, you see, is not that much fun
You’re constantly locked up and watched
You can’t leave your block till your sentence is done
Good behavior can never be botched

No punching of necks or kicking of shins
No shivving is ever allowed
No selling cigars, no stabbing with pins
No yelling “Fire!” into a crowd

No cutting off fingers or shredding of faces
No biting, fish hooking, or hanging
No gauging, no smacking, no whipping with laces
No kidney punches or head banging

No laundry escapes or faking of ills
No shoveling under the wall
No soft downy pillows or other such frills
No, not any comforts at all

The moral, today, of my ill written warning
Should be quite simplistic to see
If ever you wake mischievous in the morning
Remember this warning from me

Don’t break the law, whatever you do,
The results will never be good.
Even if you aren’t caught, you may still go “Boo-hoo!”,
‘Cause your conscience will sadden your mood.

Be a good person and obey the law
It isn’t that difficult to do.
Unless it’s your taxes that pulled the last straw
‘Cause I can’t figure ‘em out, can you?

The Wonderful Thing

by James von Dielingen

I’m marching through the jungle
Hunting a wonderful thing
I’m hoping to discover the
Wonderfulness it will bring

At every turn and twist
It dodges, jukes, and zips
I’ve armed myself to the gills
With nets, guns, traps, and whips

I spy the wonderful thing
Way up in the highest tree
I try to steady my aim
But it deftly eludes me

It has four arms for climbing
And four wings come out of its back
It has two fins and two flippers
For escaping a water attack

Four legs adorn its bottom
As well as a wound up coil
And under an arm grows a shovel
For digging around in the soil

Two horns jut out from its skull
And two more stick out of its face
A squirty mouth shoots smelly black liquid
That gets all over the place.

I chase it through the trees
And down on the jungle floor
It jumps into the water, and
I follow ‘til I can no more

I ache from head to toe
From all the running it took
To chase it ‘til it stopped, and
 I sneak close to get a good look

I creep along the jungle floor
Carrying only my net
But soon I stop and gander
Thoughts of capture I soon forget

For right in front of my eyes
In a tiny jungle den
Crouches the wonderful thing with food
For its wonderful children

It has three pouches on its front
And two more on its back
And each and every pouch contains
A wonderfully tasty snack

A trunk sits in the corner
Made of leaves and stems and bark
The thing pulls from it a box of glowworms 
To shed some light on the dark

Both mouths on the wonderful thing
Began to sweetly coo
And the duet makes the children sleepy
Soon I am sleepy, too 

I drop the net, the guns,
And every whip and trap
Instead I grab my camera
And pictures I soon snap

I’m marching through the jungle
Photographing some wonderful things
I’m happy to have discovered
The wonderfulness that they bring

Wendell the Vampire Crasher

by James von Dielingen 


Hello, my name is Wendell, I work in the museum. 
I found this invitation cleaning out the mausoleum. 
It says there is a shindig here for Vampires of the night. 
I don't know what a vampire is, but I came tonight in spite. 
I hope you do not mind that I crashed your little party. 
I tried to be on time but ended up a little tardy. 
So what exactly is a vampire? Is it something I should know? 
Is a vampire cute and cuddly with a warm inviting glow? 
Is a vampire moist and smelly like a teen’s athletic sock? 
Or is it grand and complex like an antique cuckoo clock? 
Okay, I get it, I wasn't invited and you want me to go, 
But, it's been so long since I've been out for anything, you know? 
Oh my, you're rather friendly! Whoa! Keep those teeth in check! 
What? What is it? What? Is there something on my neck? 

Pimples

by James von Dielingen

There’s a pimple on my neck.
There’s a pimple on my back.
Oh, what am I to do
When I look an utter wreck?
Well, I guess I better pack
And take off to Peru.

There’s a pimple on my lip.
There’s a pimple on my knee.
Oh, why does life hate me?
I could take a little trip 
To the Mediterranean Sea
Until I’m pimple free.

I popped the pimple on my neck.
I popped the pimple on my back.
That’s what I chose to do.
I’m keeping all my zits in check
With a firm pinching attack.
Now, I’m covered in pimple goo.

Ode to a Tattoo

by James von Dielingen

I rubbed so hard it made my skin red,
the tattoo I got last night before bed.
That stamp of black and green stained skin,
planted on my back by savage pin.

Had I known what I had done before bed,
I may not have scrubbed it until I bled.
Yet, there it stood, that permanent sign,
that I must have had a bit too much wine.

To the doctor I sped to have it removed.
He poked and dug and laser-ed and smoothed.
My skin came out fine, all ivory and clean.
I wiped my brow hoping no one had seen.

At home I took a load off in my chair,
Careful not to lean back and then tear
That skin soft and tender, fresh from the clinic.
My best friend laughed, for he's a big cynic.

When had I gotten that permanent paint?
Had I finally lost all sense of restraint?
It had to have been when I wasn't coherent
But the reason has yet to be made apparent.

I'll take a shower now, for I feel it is time
To wash myself clean from my back stamping crime.
But wait, what do I see right under my nose?
It's another tattoo there betwixt my toes!

Elsie May and Betty Sue

by James von Dielingen

Elsie May and Betty Sue were fighting over a pickle.
Elsie May thought Betty Sue was being rather fickle.

That fresh, plump gerkhin was the greatest pickle Elsie'd ever seen.
She thought it's bumps were perfect and was the loveliest shade of green.

Betty Sue thought Elsie May had to have seen one better,
whether by itself or fried up wrapped in flour, egg, and cheddar.

Elsie May and Betty Sue fought day and night and then
Their heads conjoined together like a pad and ballpoint pen.

For their new bright idea they both chose to charge a nickel.
They froze that sucker and many more and dubbed it Picklesicle.